Friday, September 30, 2016

Remember with
me back to 1962; to a younger and gentler day in our lives. Some things in life
are just more memorable than others. I have written hundreds of stories that I
witnessed. They lay in all stages of my memories. This one stands out. What a pleasure
to just have been there.

We woke up that
morning to an extremely cold winter day in 1962 on the Ulmer Hereford Ranch
near Morgan Mill, Texas. The outside was a postcard of beauty. During the night
the heavens had placed six inches of the most beautiful snow ever seen by me in
Texas. It was a very still morning with temperatures dipping into the mid-twenties.
Things of beauty can also be deadly though.

The past week we had moved 175 pregnant angora nannies to a large shed next to a
harvested peanut field. After the peanuts are dug, combined and the vines are
baled, there is still an enormous amount of vines and peanuts left that goats
can get fat on. That was the purpose of their being here, along with the fact
of the big shed for shelter from the winter and kidding next month. The reason
for these nannies was for replacement of about 10% of the 1500 wethers culled
each year.

These wether
hair goats made more percentage wise than anything on the ranch. They would
shear $10-12 a piece and this was in the ‘60s.

I asked you
little girls, “Would you like to go feed with me this morning?” You both
screamed out your yes. We all ate a big breakfast. Mama bundled you both up and
we took off. We loaded up peanut hay and cubes for the cattle. Everything needs
protein when it’s cold and this was the highest. We stopped close to the shed and
were instantly mobbed. If there’s anything in the world that goats love, it’s
peanut hay. I threw a couple of bales off, broke them and started throwing them
blocks. You girls and me got side tracked though. Always inside the bales are
many, many cured peanuts. The vines are baled and in time, the bales build up a
very high heat for a certain many days and then it cures. These by far are the
best peanuts ever. I was sitting on a bale exposing the peanuts and you girls
would grab the peanut vine and about half the time a goat would grab it from
you. A couple of times, it ended in a chase. You never won. I never heard so
much squealing in my life. Goats were all over us and even over the pick-up.
You were having a ball.

After filling
up on peanuts, we had put out all the hay and left for the Northeast pasture to
feed the cattle. Other men fed the other pastures. We slipped and slid to the
pack of the pasture where the cattle were behind a hill next to a lot of timber.
We fed them the cubes. You girls ate a few of those, of course. You were both a
big part of everything that we did that morning, from fighting goats for
peanuts to feeding a pasture full of cattle, even eating a bite with them. We
loaded up and left, we were through.

We were following
our own tracks out when all of a sudden I saw some deer tracks. I stopped and
we got out. I explained to you that a buck deer had crossed our tracks since we
had come along here. It was a big one and I pointed out a print of his dew
claws behind the foot print that showed it to be a buck. I asked you, “Do you
want to track this deer?” You both squealed like little magpies. We took off on
his trail just jabbering. We didn’t have a chance to see the buck but you were
both excited and having fun. We followed his winding trail through timber and
over a hill for about a half mile. There was a dead fall behind the hill and
after getting to about thirty yards of it, a big buck came to its feet and
lazily loped off. I quickly pointed him out to you. You were both squealing
again and jumping up and down and that deer wasn’t a bit scared of us. He just
loped off. He had a big wide rack and I could count 8 points at least.

When we finally
got home that afternoon, Mama had a nice hot meal ready and boy, were we
hungry. It was fun hearing you both tell your mama about your experiences that
day.

What a wonderful day it was. Just two little girls, Barbi 9 and Jo 6
hanging out with their 30 year old cowboy dad. Life is good.

Friday, September 23, 2016

I am
weighed down and have to release this bit by bit. I recognize and name my
privilege. Privileges are not rights and I know this. This is self serving to a
big extent; yet, it also serves the bigger good because I need to unload some
of this. Perhaps in the telling of my tale, new light will dawn, in me and or
possibly in the reader. This is raw and uncut, unedited. It just is.

Synopsis
of the past two weeks

September
12 – 18

Tuesday

Crazy day. Lots of people. Second full week of the month. I
used to think that I could predict when the surges would happen but I have been
wrong so many times I stopped trying to look at trends. On Tuesday, September
12, we served 133 individuals in one and a half hours. That is not 133
individuals that came in; but it was a great many single households with the
rest families ranging from 2 to 10. However, this number “served” means only
those who came for their monthly allocation of groceries and does not include,
for the most part, those who came simply for the meal being offered. So, in
that space of the first hour, approximately 60 people (volunteers, diners,
household representatives) were in the space at any given moment. This is not a
record but it is close enough to count.

Dennis came in. He was not sober. Jeremiah cut in the food
line and Dennis made a comment. Jeremiah responded just as rudely. They did not
seem to be able to control themselves so I stepped in between them. Both
continued. I did not handle the situation well. I hurt Dennis’ feelings,
although he was drunk so I do not take full responsibility for that. He was
drunk enough to be at the crying stage. What I wanted to say to him, what I
tried to say to him was that he was a member of Trinity and as that was the
case, he needed to be hospitable. Jeremiah was wrong but he was a virtual
stranger, a guest.

Both hushed their
noises until they got their food but Jeremiah left speaking loudly to the wind about kicking people out
and he wouldn’t be back. I told him that was his choice. Dennis took his food
and went off and cried in his solitude. I felt like crap but was too damn busy
to worry about either. And I was kind of pissed that both of them acted like aggrieved
ten year olds. I should not have to monitor, much less control, people. Dammit.

Dennis later left. Jeremiah came back in and started the
conversation again that I needed to make a rule that drunks were allowed. I
deemed it necessary to let him know that I am not in the business of kicking
people out or denying people entrance. He said that he would not return until I
did. I said, Ok…again, that is your choice. He said that the world was full of
assholes that needed to be put in their place. I told him that I agreed with
him totally.

Sigh.

Wednesday

Almost as crazy but not quite so. Only 90 individuals were
served groceries. We had the normal crowd for the meal. The day was busy but
not as chaotic.

No Dennis. No Jeremiah. But I expected neither. I needed
the calmer atmosphere.

Thursday

Always a long day because I pick up from Whole Foods at 9
am and then take it back to Trinity to sort and store. I often have help
picking up from Whole Foods and help with sorting and storing also. It is like
getting ready for Christmas. One never knows what will be available. Sometimes
it is a huge amount (2 small SUV loads) and sometimes not nearly so much.
Always, always, it is more than we ever had before. J After noon, volunteers leave
and I take the next two hours to catch up on paperwork or simply eat lunch and
relax. By 2:30, there is a meal to get ready and Gwen, a volunteer, returns to
help get that ready.

Setting up for pantry takes a bit longer on Thursdays
simply because it is a dance to arrange all the goodies. Then pantry begins at
4 and is either steady on or sometimes slow dependent upon the time of the
month. This one was steady busy but not too busy.

Regardless, by 5:30 when the
volunteers scatter to other worlds, I am one exhausted puppy. This week, I am physically
spent and even though this week was emotionally exhausting, this particular day
was simply long.

Still no Dennis. I know he thinks he needs to apologize and
won’t be back until he gets his courage.

While I love having some Sundays off, I do also find a
renewal of energy on Sundays. I do little but meet and greet. I talk, listen,
shake hands, offer hugs, and laugh a lot. It is normally a good day. This one
was no different.

But still no Dennis. But I did hear that he came to church
so that is good. I know he is alive.

The
week of September 19 – 22

Tuesday

It was a normal run of the mill Tuesday, busy simply
because it was the first day of week’s pantry but relatively normal. Every Tuesday
pantry begins with me going by Restaurant Depot to purchase the week’s supply
of eggs. We give out 4 eggs per person up to a max of one dozen. Right now,
eggs are relatively inexpensive. Last year, eggs were as high as $24 per case
(a dozen dozen) but now are resting at the stable of price of less than $10 per
case. After that stop, I run by 2nd Presbyterian to pick up fresh
produce from Arthur Culbert’s CWE Urban Farm. http://www.cwefarm.org/our-farmers/
The Farm grows and shares its produce with the Saturday pantry at 2nd
Presbyterian and Trinity Food Pantry. It is a blessing. After pick up, it’s on
to Trinity to begin the set up for a new week.

That is a normal week. And this Tuesday was a normal day,
thankfully.

Jeremiah came by to eat but was fairly aloof. He said hello
but didn’t stick around.

Meanwhile, people who are homeless continue to find us.
The meal part of the ministry is growing.

Many think that homeless people are dirty, drunk/addicted, mentally
unstable, or many other things. Some may be. But the men and women that come to
Trinity, for the most part, are clean and take a certain pride in being that
way. There are several that no one would ever realize are homeless.

Arlie, a pantry meal and Sunday Hot Lunch regular, and his
cousin Ron (neither of whom are homeless), were laughing and called me over.
Arlie asked Ron, “What do they call this place now?” Ron answered, “Barb’s
place.” Both just heehawed. Arlie said that everyone he sees on the street
asks, “Hey, you going down to Barb’s Place later?” I laugh. I am flattered. I
feel very weird about it.

I know that I have set into play a few beliefs that have
come into a natural being. It is good. It’s all about relationship. It’s all
about being a part of the community, the people of God, together, in love. It’s
about love.

It’s not about it being MY place. I won’t always be there.
But I do hope that the community will always have a place for everyone.

Wednesday

It was relatively slow. Still no Dennis but I am no longer
worried because Reta, our parish nurse from Deaconess Faith Nurses saw him
earlier at Pilgrim UCC where she ministers each Wednesday morning. I know he
will probably show up on Thursday.

Today, we served knockwurst and cabbage with several sides
and plenty of desserts. We open the doors at 1:30. By 2:15, all the Knockwurst
and sides were gone. There were still desserts but far fewer. The pantry was
slow but the meal was not. It was hopping.

The pantry dynamic is shifting, growing. It is good. But
sometimes it is so good that it scares me. I don’t know why. It’s just there. I
share the love but as I share that, I also feel a certain draining. It is far
easier for me to understand why Jesus had to go into the wilderness to get
away. Sometimes I feel like I am in a scene from Jesus Christ Superstar, the Temple Lyrics scene:

See
my eyes, I can hardly see
See me stand, I can hardly walk
I believe you can make me whole
See my tongue, I can hardly talk

See
my skin, I'm a mass of blood
See my legs, I can hardly stand
I believe you can make me well
See my purse, I'm a poor, poor man

Hearing my name repeatedly called, from all directions,
people pulling at my clothes, motioning to get my attention, makes me want to
cry out, “Ooh there’s too many of you,” too much need, too much pain, far too
little I can do.

I am not in any way comparing myself to Christ. I am simply
stating that I understand the draining.

That is my privilege speaking. I have the privilege of
walking away, finding a way to recuperate, to rest, to revive myself. When I
drive home at night in my cute little car to my beautiful wife and our
wonderfully air conditioned home to drink a glass of wine, eat a little food,
watch a little TV before retiring upstairs to my comfy bed, I leave all the
people. There is a limit and I cannot fool myself into thinking otherwise. My
compassion turns away from them to my own privilege. One or two of them may
make it to my dreams but for the most part, they return to their hot crumbly
house, bedbug infested apartment, cubby, vaco, SRO, space under a stairwell or
bridge, or shelter spot. They go back into their world that has far too much
oppression and is most often underserved.

Thursday

I’m good to go. The haul from Whole Foods is light but that
helps me be thankful. My prayer these days is for God to help me so that I do
not become complacent in the abundance. Or arrogant.

But somewhere along the line, as Gwen and I are talking, we
go from laughing to crying in a space of seconds. We both realize that we have
been practicing Joy but suddenly when faced with the certain reality of the
world that our hearts are breaking. So, we cry for a few minutes. Then we resolve
to once again practice Joy. But I think we are hiding behind a façade. Somehow
it feels as though “shield the joyous” phrase from Compline would fit here.

But it gets us through the time so that when it’s time for
pantry, our smiles are from our hearts and in our eyes. We meet and greet.

Dennis comes in, immediately comes to me and says, “Barbi,
I am sorry.” It is the apology of an alcoholic and I take it as it comes,
heartfelt with full intentions of never acting that way again. But I am also
able to tell him my own guilt/frustration at not saying what I meant to say. So
I shared with him that he is loved by this parish and that he is a full member.
Therefore, he has to think of himself as host rather than simply guest. And he
has to sometimes wait. He accepts that, happy that I still love him and I am
not angry at him. He has a past that includes a lot of angry family members.

Then a young man comes in. It just so happens that he is a
young white guy from Cape Girardeau. I gathered that he had not been homeless
long.

We try to adapt the food we give out according to special
needs of the patrons. We even have a gluten-free cabinet. We have vegetarians
that come to the pantry, too. Just because people are poor does not mean that
they will eat just anything.

I asked him if the grocery bag that we gave him was ok or
did he need to exchange some of the goods. He looked at me quizzically. I
explained that some things might be useless to him – potatoes, cabbage, onions,
raw eggs – unless he had a way to cook them. I explained that I had a can
opener, pop tops, individual servings of fruit, etc. Plus, he had no idea how
heavy all that stuff could be. He finally said maybe he should not take it all.
The practical vs the desire to have enough. I told him he should take enough to
have food that would last until Tuesday, gave him a list of places he could go
to shower and to eat over the next few days, and then Reta (the nurse) hooked
him up with Ernest.

Ernest used to be homeless. He had a really bad stroke
about 2 ½ years ago that almost killed him. He still has a limp and has to walk
with the aid of a cane but oh my goodness how he has improved. He is a funny
guy and has his own special issues. However, he sat down to eat and talk with the
guy and gave him some serious information about the dos and don’ts of being
homeless. And he shared with him the location of the safe place where he used
to sleep. None of the guys that come to Trinity like New Life or downtown. They
all believe it is safer to be near Forest Park and the Central West End. They
say they like it here because there are fewer drug and drug dealer problems.

Anyway, Ernest, God bless him, educated the young man and
alleviated a little bit of my concern. Oh, and did I say that Ernest asked him
if he could pray with him? Nah, I know I didn’t. But he did. And they did. And it
was good.

Pantry is almost over. Yolanda and her youngest son come in
five minutes before closing. I love her. She is so kind, so calm, so aware of
her blessings. And her kids are fine children. Two sons and a daughter. The
youngest son is about 9 and is adorable. I haven’t met her daughter but she is
a teen. The oldest son came in three or four weeks ago to pick up the groceries
for his mom because she was working. Today, Yolanda told me that he was shot in
the back two weeks ago. He is alive and just got out of the hospital. The
bullet went all the way through him, tearing his intestines and came out his
stomach. He will have to wear a colostomy bag for the rest of his life. She is
thankful he is alive.

It took everything I had to hold it together. Yolanda didn’t
cry. I couldn’t either. He was not my son. I do not love him like a mother
would. I cannot live that pain she had, the fear she felt when she got the
call, the realization that her son had become a part of the statistics that
tell the tell-tale story of young black men. She said that the good news was
that there was a video and the police were working hard to get the guy who shot
him.

As I fought to hold myself together, as she was leaving,
she told me that she really appreciated me and Trinity Food Pantry.

I locked the doors.

I am undone.

_________________________________________________________________

Addendum:

I did not mention the volunteers, many of whom take great care of me. They feel my fragility sometimes and offer much support. This is a ministry of many, not simply one person. I may lead but what is a leader if no one follows? We are following what God has called us to do - to share the love. And we do it well. I am thankful for each and everyone of the 30+ volunteers who make up this weekly ministry. I give thanks to God for you all every day.

About Me

I know you know

that everything in this blog is authored or photographed by me (except where noted) and that it is placed on this blog to share with all who will read it. If you want to share, please do so; however, since this is my own writing and pictures, please let it be known that it is mine. I knew you already knew that...but I was told I needed to put it in writing...so here it is!

On another note:

Everything written here is my opinion. It does not reflect the views of any establishment for whom I work, volunteer or paid. It is mine and mine alone.